It has come to my attention that parents, particularly at this time of year, spend a lot of time worrying themselves silly over one thing and one thing only, a concern so deep it literally wakes them from a sound sleep, apoplectic over some concern relating to: Santa.

Forget Terrorism. Forget a seventeen trillion percent rise in home heating prices. Forget the economic meltdown, and the fact that our children’s children’s children’s children will likely be footing the bill. Nope, the real issue here people is the jolly red-suited guy.

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Each holiday season brings certain traditions that are unavoidable. For instance, at some point in December you’re going to turn on the radio and hear The Royal Guardsman singing the “Snoopy vs. the Red Baron Song.” Stunned by the overwhelming and totally utter wrongness of it all, you might be distracted enough to listen to almost the whole thing before coming to your senses and finally - blessedly - turning that horrid mess OFF.  Unfortunately, that’s still three minutes of your life you’ll never get back.

Short. Worse yet, for parents coping with being cast as the happless middlemen in the seasonal slog that is Santa versus the rest of the free world, there is the annual “gift” of the shortsighted toy makers who are apparently INCAPABLE of manufacturing enough of whatever the “hot” toy of the season will be. I realize that the elves were forced to outsource once the video game industry outpaced their production capacities, but there is still no excuse for this sloppiness. Be it Cabbage Patch Kids, Tickle Me Elmo, or Wii Fit, is it so hard to PLAN AHEAD people?  These toys are, we presume, still made from plastic, bits of cloth, and microchips are they not? Why then are we treated year in and year out to “shortages” and “delayed shipments” that cause otherwise sane parents to lose their minds when they it dawns on them that Junior may just have to forego what he “really really really wants” this year?

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A feature in the local paper as well as witnessing a toddler last night being forced writhing and crying into Santa’s lap for a photo op inspired me to dig up this picture of what was surely the most frightening thing I experienced within my first 11 months on Earth (and which also may explain my love of mustard on hot dogs):

What’s odd is that this picture is clearly not at the mall and is at someone’s house… unfortunately there is no one remaining on my side of the family to ask, so the real identity of the Santa with the awesome watch shall remain a mystery.

Here’s a bit of info for those of you with wee tots terrified of Santa — they get over it the very second they can even vaguely comprehend that this fat guy in the velvet suit brings them tons of crap on Christmas Eve. Commercialism soothes the savage beast.

Anyone else have crying, screaming Santa pics of yourselves or your kids that you wish to share? You can email them my way and I’ll put them up, or include a link to it on Flickr, Photobucket, etc. in the comments below.